Every artist's work is about time, place and circumstance, but in Rigoberto
Torres' case, the fervor with which he embraces all three factors lends
the work a directness and intensity that is extremely rare in the contemporary
art world. In particular, the artist's close interrelationship with his
subjects makes his output appear especially personal. By his drawing from
the presence of neighbors, friends and family for his subjects, the world
described in Torres' art functions as a close parallel to the world in
which he lives and works on a day-to-day basis. For viewers who may not
be personally familiar with that world, Torres' sculpture provides a means
of coming into intimate contact with a social milieu that is both vivid
and moving, and which literally overflows with the richness of gesture
and character that belongs to his subjects.

The circumstances surrounding Torres' fifteen-year evolution as a fine
artist provide some degree of insight into the meanings found in his work.
Born in a small town in Puerto Rico, his family moved to New York when
he was four, and he grew up in the same South Bronx neighborhood where
most of his work has been created. Although outgoing and energetic, Torres
has had an asthmatic condition since childhood that resulted in him spending
a great deal of his free time as a youth tinkering with cars, "inventing
things," and helping his uncle Raul Arce at the family's religious
art factory. In 1979, shortly after artists Stefan Eins and Joe Lewis
established Fashion Moda as the downtown avant-garde's outpost in the
South Bronx, a cousin of Torres was driving by the storefront, looked
in and saw the plaster heads that artist John Ahearn was making of friends
and acquaintances, and mentioned it to Rigoberto. Within a very short
time, the 18 year-old had introduced himself to Ahearn and was coming
by Fashion Moda on a daily basis. His first heads were cast there, using
Ahearn's technique of pouring plastic gel over the subject's face (straws
were inserted in their noses so that they could breathe), then lifting
the dried impression off to use as a mold. In fact both artists cast each
other's faces that first year, a symbolic beginning to the long-term collaboration
which is still evident in each of their respective approaches to making
art.

However, since the story behind this work is generally told with Ahearn
as the principal figure, it is important to emphasize in the present version
that while the older artist spent much of the '80s making art that concerned
itself to a measurable degree with his own assimilation into a cultural
situation that was new, even exotic, for him, Torres took the techniques
and opportunities being offered by his partnership, and used them to define
his ongoing life and situation. There was no need to go looking for subject
matter, because it literally waited in his own backyard. Two factors in
the development of both artists' work at this period make the complexities
of their resultant interrelationship clear. One is the early and critical
role played by Rigoberto's uncle Raul Arce's statuary factory in developing
the more sophisticated molding process required to make multiple casts
of his and Ahearn's subjects. The other was the decision, made largely
by Torres, to move the operation out of the Fashion Moda storefront, where
people typically dropped in on their way to and from work or chores like
shopping, and set up their studio on Walton Avenue, in the heart of his
own South Bronx neighborhood, where everybody knows everybody else and
their business. To a significant degree, his being able to work amidst
family, friends and neighbors meant that Torres also functioned for many
years as Ahearn's double in the close knit neighborhood, enabling the
latter to bypass many of the cultural and linguistic barriers that invariably
came up in his interactions with people. Certainly, the major outdoor
groupings produced during this period'Banana' Kelly Double Dutch
(1981-82), We are Family (1981-82), Life on Dawson Street (1982-83),
and Back to School (1985) are collaborations in every sense
of the word. But to an extent that has only become a bit clearer over
time, the fact that neither Ahearn's nor Torres' work would have been
possible without each one's chance discovery of and eventual reliance
on the other takes on quite different connotations depending on which
of the two artists' work one is considering.

The sense of intimacy with his sitters that marks Torres' work as a whole
is evident even in Shirley (1979), the earliest piece in the present
exhibition. Unlike the more dramatic expressions favored by Ahearn at
this time, the personality that emerges in this work may be subdued, even
reticent, but there is an almost sly self-assertiveness in its subject's
direct gaze and quiet smile. Despite its slightly blocky symmetry and
frontally, the piece works because of the easy identification which its
maker has with the young woman posing for him. The same observation holds
true for Girl with Red Halter (1982-83), in which the downward
cast of the chin and the subject's folded arms accentuate, rather than
detract from, the glow of budding sexuality radiating from her skin, hair
and clothing. This seemingly effortless gift for reflecting the sitter's
persona can be seen to more powerful effect in important works from twelve
years later, like Torres' reverential treatment of the singer Ruth Fernandez
in performance, or in the tower of jostling young boys that makes up
Julio, Jose, Junito (both works 1991). Because he so clearly identifies
with his subjects, Torres never imposes on them to represent anything
other than themselves, and this license results in the marked ease with
which they slip into their 'real' selves as they are being cast. In fact,
even the principal room of the Lehman College Art Gallery, which is devoted
to Torres' treatments of children, serves as testimony to the artist's
remarkable ability to work with subjects as young as two years oldnot
an age typified by the ability to stand absolutely still while plastic
gel is poured over one's face, hair, and throat!

Another characteristic of Rigoberto Torres' work from the early '80s
is his instinctive drive to create tableaux from single figures. Even
in a formative piece like his bust of the magician Manny ( 1982-83),
the artist uses the prop of the sword being swallowed to extend the figure
out from the limits of the body and into open space. The upward tilt of
the conjurer's arm and upper body, contrasted with the downward arc of
the sword as it enters his mouth, achieves both a narrative tension as
well as a compositional complexity that comes from the space around the
relief being activated by the unexpectedly dynamic twist of the body's
contours. The bodybuilder's arms held proudly aloft in Dixie (1982-83)
achieve the same effect, albeit more simply; there may not be a prop in
sight, but the naturalness of the gesture and facial expression suggest
the countless hours the subject has spent working with those arms and
shoulders to achieve the mass of muscle of which he is so proud. But as
in Manny the primary compositional effect created by this gesture is to
activate the space around the figure, so that it reads less as a static
form and more as a living character pulling himself out of his environment
and into the viewer's close proximity.

In a more literal way, the creation of a tableau-like setting becomes
key to the success of the two most ambitious works from this period:
Tito Gonzalez (1983) and Shorty Working at the C & R Statuary
Corp. (1985). Both works use either family models or settings (or
both), and each represents an almost devotional attitude towards the subject
of work. It is not so much that Torres' subjects are defined by what they
do, but rather they are so engaged by their activity that they seem to
physically bond with their setting to form a single, complex unit The
wayTito, the liquor store proprietor, places his hands palms down
with fingers open on the counter's surface gives the viewer an impression
of solidness and dependability, which is in turn echoed by the neatly
arranged wall of liquor bottles behind him. At the same time, the roundness
of his frame and his almost deferential gaze suggests an inner equilibrium
that is in marked contrast to more typical depictions of the occupation
he is meant to be representing. Shorty Working at the C & R Statuary
Corp. is an even more painstaking rendering of the work being done
in his uncle Raul Arce's statue factory. While Torres' interest is in
showing the loving attention that goes into the detailing of the religious
figures that his uncle's factory produces, it is also a metaphorical self-portrait,
in which the labors of the artist/artisan are used to suggest a kind of
exemplary life that is a carefully achieved balance of action and contemplation.
However, we do not need such a complex interpretation to appreciate the
strong visual contrast between Shorty's somewhat imposing masculinity,
complete with tattooed arms, and the almost serene care with which he
treats the archetypal Virgin in his hands.

At first glance, it would seem that the more outgoing, genre-like aspects
of Orlando the Donut Man (1987) form a stark contrast with these
earlier, more introspective works. Indeed, it is probably to pieces like
these that other writers are referring when they bring up the 'carnival'
aspects of Torres' style. However, such descriptions are guilty of oversimplifying
what is in reality a subtle form of symbiosis taking place between the
artist and his models. Even though it is clear that in more recent years
Torres has been drawn to situations in which a sensation of well-being,
even wonderment, is generated by the comportment of his figures, it would
be a mistake to think of any of his more recent output in terms of an
approach that is somehow frivolous or less meaningful to him. On the contrary,
circumstances over the past year or so have conspired to make Torres'
personal philosophy towards life and art much clearer, and the optimism
of a work like Orlando the Donut Man seems almost poignant when
one considers the circumstance that its quasi-heroic subject, who was
once memorialized in a photo posing self-consciously alongside his sculptural
likeness, is no longer the donut vendor at the legendary Munch Time Restaurant.
Suddenly, the passing of time and the changeability of things provides
that ingredient of melancholy which Torres' work is sometimes perceived
as lacking. The sculpture Orlando the Donut Man thus becomes in
part a legitimization of memory for those persons whose lives he may have
touched, for whom the character of the donut man will always be irreplaceable.

It is also possible that the issue of mortality seems to hover covertly
around these pieces due to the artist's own recent brush with death. During
the summer and fall of 1993, he and Ahearn worked together on an extended
casting project at a storefront on 42nd Street, within striking distance
of the spot where, fourteen years before, the world south of the Bronx
first became exposed to their work, as part of the historic Times Square
Show (which Ahearn co-organized). While initially reluctant to go back
over what each perceived as well-explored territory, both artists were
notably revitalized by the process of interacting with groups of people
in a largely public setting. However, as the project was drawing to a
close, Torres, who has had a respiratory condition his entire life, was
unexpectedly struck, in close succession, by two asthmatic seizures whose
intensity eclipsed anything that he had ever experienced before. The second
seizure, which was treated at a hospital where the staff was unfamiliar
with his medical history, caused cortex damage that resulted in (temporary)
loss of sight, as well as severe memory loss and vision problems from
which he is still recovering more than a year later. Although a full recovery
is expected, and some works have actually been completed by him for the
present exhibition, as of this writing Torres is able to work on his art
only for brief stretches at a time.

Needless to say, if it is an appreciation for the precariousness of life
that one is seeking, Torres' work can be surprisingly eloquent. This is
not only true in a somewhat melodramatic work like The Rescue (1993),
in which a fireman, framed by the pillars of an 'old-law' tenement, risks
his life to save the child who is cradled in his arms. It is also present
in an unexpectedly moving work like Margaret and Edwin (1992),
which frames its female protagonist's pregnancy with both the tender embrace
of her husband's arms and a corny maternity T-shirt emblazoned with the
word "Baby" and an arrow pointing to her womb. In Margaret
and Jill (also 1992), the embrace between two adult women, one white
and one black, seems to affirm the fragility which accompanies all gestures
of love in a frequently hostile and intolerant society. Even in Torres'
single-sitter portraits, of which there are nearly ten included here,
one gets the sensation that the artist has zeroed in on the essential
qualities that most define the person he is casting. This is as true in
the warlike grimace of Mabrick (1984) or the cockiness of The
Man in Mexico ( 1986) as it is in the proud upward thrust of Julissa's
chin (1990) or Margaret's quizzical tilt of the head (1992). The spark
that sustains each personality is conveyed by the intimacy which Torres
creates between himself and the people who quite literally mean the most
to him.

In his full-standing figures like Ruth Fernandez (1991) and
Maria (1993), the close-up point of view that Torres favors takes
on a different level of intensity. The performing self is what seems to
interest him the most, as in the climactic moment when the singer, eyes
closed, gestures outward to the crowd. It could be the split second just
after Fernandez has finished her last note, and before she is enveloped
in applause. The latter work, by contrast, shows the moment of concentration
just before a gymnast or dancer leaps into her routine. These works are
closely related to the two most recent ensemble works in Torres' oeuvre,
and which could easily be considered the highlight of the exhibition:
Magic Kids (1992) and The Boxing Match (1993). Each of these
pieces takes up the theme of children assuming adult roles, in a way that
is both endearing and also a bit unsettling. In the earlier piece, the
diminutive magician, saw in hand, has just finished cutting his assistant
in half. Her hair cascades to the floor as he looks out at us hesitantly,
as if unsure whether to expect applause or a scolding. In the more recent
ensemble, two young pugilists are seated on stools at opposite ends of
the ring, as the bikini-clad announcer holds up a card to announce the
next round. Although Torres' precise intentions in these works are hard
to decipher, it seems that he is trying to combine an oblique commentary
on gender-based roles with a wry awareness that nowadays kids are being
forced to assume the responsibilities of adulthood at a much younger age
than ever before.

Although one would be hard pressed to try and paraphrase these ensembles
through purely linguistic means, one point seems clear: Torres himself
means to hold on to the principles of childhood as long as he can, even
if it means creating a form of parody of the adult world for his characters
(and audience) to inhabit. In fact, one of the common threads that runs
through all of his output is the idea that Torres wants to sustain his
own sense of amazement concerning the world and the people around him.
Most of the time, this engagement can be felt in the way that Torres creates
an uncanny sense of his sitter's identity through the most direct means
possible. But even when some of his larger works reveal an emergent theatricality,
the dignity of each participant is beyond questioning. Torres may be recreating
his world as a way of coming to terms with forces that rage all around
him but in so doing he also builds a convincing case for identity being
based on the place we occupy in the world-view of those around us. Sooner
or later in one form or another, everyone learns to struggle for his or
her survival; but it is usually during those moments in betweenmoments
of contemplation, celebration or lovewhen the people who we really
are finally catch up with us.